


And I Am His

by Faylette



Series: This Man is Mine [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bodily Fluids, Bottom Yuri Plisetsky, Butt Plugs, Come Swallowing, Creampie, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Dominant Yuri Plisetsky, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Just a big wall of porn, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Marathon Sex, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Name-Calling, Near Future, POV Otabek Altin, PWP, Post-sex fluff, Power Bottom Yuri Plisetsky, Power Play, Reunion Sex, Riding, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Service Top Otabek Altin, Sex Toys, Sexting, Stockings, Submissive Otabek, Teasing, Texting, Top Otabek Altin, Yuri riding Otabek into the sunset, degradation kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2018-11-22 05:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11373255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faylette/pseuds/Faylette
Summary: “I know what I want,” Yuri told him, looking down at Otabek stooped low beneath him. “So either you give it to me or I’m taking it from you.” Those words had ignited a fire in him then that hasn’t stopped burning, not even after the time that has passed.A story in which Yuri and Otabek go further in their exploration of what they both want out of the sexual side of their relationship. This apparently involves Yuri in pretty lingerie, marathon sex, power play, and a very,veryhappy service top Otabek.A sequel to "This Man is Mine", but since it's pretty much self-indulgent porn it can probably be read by itself if you want!





	1. Chapter 1

Tonight has been months in the making.

It began, of all places, at a shoe store, where Otabek was looking for a pair of shoes to go with the suit he'd be wearing for the season’s formal events. As he was pacing through the store, perusing the shelves and displays, and getting a closer look at promising finds, it was by chance that  _ they _ caught his eye from across the room. He walked over to them, passing from the men's section to the women's, to get a better look: a pair of leopard print pumps, with a black sole, a thin, buckled strap around the ankle, and a very tall, very slender heel that just at sight looked humanly impossible to balance on (he will be, of course, proved wrong). On a whim, or perhaps more out of habit by now, he took out his phone to get a photo, immediately sending off said photo to Yuri, with a text that read:

_ Saw these and thought of you. Wonder how you'd look in them. _

When he didn't get a reply right away, he returned his focus his original task. Taking the time difference and the day of the week into account, he assumed that Yuri was at practice, one of the few times where he's separated from his phone for any significant amount of time. A little while later, while he was lacing himself into a pair of brogues, his phone buzzed, giving him that little rush of excitement he always gets when he thinks it  _ could _ be Yuri. And it was Yuri:

_ u still at the shoe store? _

_ I am,  _ Otabek replied.

He was in the process of typing out that he was looking for some formal shoes and asking if Yuri had time to share his opinions, but Yuri beat him to the next text.

_ find those heels in my size and you’ll get to see exactly how i look in them _

And boy, did he beat him.

That’s how Otabek ended up at the counter with two boxes instead of one. The sales lady at the register complimented Otabek’s choice as she checked inside the box of brogues he ended up going with, then froze for a second as she opened the other box.

“Ah,” she said with a nod a second later, seeming sure of her newfound grasp on the situation. “Are these for your girlfriend?” She gave him a polite but knowing smile. “Lucky girl.”

“They're for… someone very special,” answered Otabek, truthfully.

That raised an eyebrow. “Well, then,” she said as she rung up his purchase. “Lucky special someone. Cash or card?”

He sent Yuri a picture of the bag once he was out of the store, but didn’t get a reply until he was back home — presumably Yuri’s break was over, and he probably had Yakov screaming at him to stop messaging that damn Kazakh boy and get back on the ice. Based on Yuri’s complaining about it, it seems to be a common occurrence.

_ u got them!! _

_ Just for you, Yura. _

He took the boxes out of the bag, setting his own box aside, to look at the pumps again, marvelling once more at those unbelievably high heels. In these, Yuri’s advantage in height would go from slight to substantial, something Yuri derives great pleasure from. Otabek thinks he rather likes it himself, too, but had little time to ponder upon it as a flurry of Yuri’s texts fly in.

_ o shit _

_ bekaaa, you’re the best _

_ bring them with u the next time we meet up _

_ i’ll put together something to go with them _

_ something rly nice _

_ just for you, beka _

Otabek couldn’t help smiling at Yuri’s excitement, one of the many emotions he’s learned to parse from his texts, having been sent so many since they became friends, and then boyfriends.

_ then im gonna put those shoes on and make u fuck my brains out _

Otabek chuckled and texted back:

_ No need to make me. _

_ but you reeeaaally like it when i do right? _

Right. Yuri was pretty damn right.

 

If Otabek wanted to go further back in this chain of events, tonight began last summer, in Yuri’s apartment, when Yuri walked through the bedroom door in a leopard print miniskirt, black high heels, and (discovered once Otabek got his hands under said miniskirt) a pair of bright red, lacy panties. It was a complete surprise; Otabek had never suggested he do it, nor had Yuri ever expressed any interest in it. Even so, it turned out to be a  _ very  _ pleasant surprise. In Otabek’s eyes, Yuri looks good in anything, including nothing, but he looked amazing that night.

But the thing Otabek liked best wasn't what Yuri was wearing, it was the way he was acting, like the Yuri he knew, but pushed to all his limits, and eager to push Otabek to all of his. He took control completely, demanding exactly what he wanted and making sure he got it, accepting nothing less than the fiercest pleasure Otabek could give him. In the end, Otabek felt sort of used — used, and more satisfied than he even thought possible.

“I know what I want,” Yuri told him, looking down at Otabek stooped low beneath him. “So either you give it to me or I’m taking it from you.” Those words had ignited a fire in him then that hasn’t stopped burning, not even after the time that has passed.

Otabek still has a hunch that this more intense side of Yuri might have only come about to compensate for an outfit he didn’t initially feel very comfortable in, but if that was the case then, it certainly isn’t now. When it comes to sex, Yuri loves having all the power. He  _ thrives _ off of it. And finding all little ways he can flaunt that power has clearly become one of Yuri’s go-to hobbies in what little free time he has.

Case in point: the next piece of in the saga leading up to tonight.

_ u home right now? _ , Yuri messaged him, while he was sitting at his workstation at home, fine-tuning a set list for a gig he had secured for that upcoming weekend. He texted him back to let him know as much.

_ so youre alone right? _

_ I am. What’s up, Yuri? _

The implications in Yuri’s text quite effectively split Otabek’s attention between his work and whatever his boyfriend could be getting at. Nonetheless, he tried, with very little success, to make some progress as he awaited his next message. When it arrived, Otabek knew that set list was just going to have to wait until later — this demanded his immediate, undivided attention.

It was a photo of Yuri, taken in front of a full length mirror, below the neck. An oversized t-shirt concealed his body down to the top of his thighs, but left the obvious focus of the picture visible; he was wearing thigh-high stockings, sheer black nylon on one leg, close knit fishnet on the other. Otabek’s mouth went dry at the sight of it.

_ which do you like better, beka? _

Well, that explained why they didn’t match, at least.

_ You’re going to have to give me some time to think this over. _

With that said, Otabek zoomed in on one leg, sliding his finger up and down his screen to drink in the sight from thigh to toe, before switching over to the other leg and doing the same. There was something absolutely entrancing about it, seeing those strong, slender legs he knows so well embellished so simply and yet so completely — the way that length of dark fabric contrasted against the bare, pale skin of his thigh, how the diamond pattern enticingly embraced his skin, giving the illusion of a black outline along the contours of his leg. Otabek went back and forth, thumb scrolling up and down those legs again and again, his briefs growing tighter by the second. He barely even registered that he was palming himself through his pants until his phone’s vibrations jolted him back to his senses. It didn’t stop him, though.

_ come on, beka _

_ all u have to do is pick one _

_ or are u too busy jerking off to answer? _

Otabek considered that there was no more point in drawing out the prelude anymore, what with being caught red handed and all. He wriggled his sweatpants down easily enough, then reached beneath the waistband of his briefs to slip his cock out, stroking himself with a loose grip before finally fumbling out an answer with his thumb.

_ Fish rye _

_ *fishnet _

He cursed autocorrect beneath his breath.

_ i KNEW you were jerking off _

_ gimme a sec _

Otabek waited, hand moving languidly, not sure of what Yuri was doing but pretty damn sure it’d be something worth waiting for. It took a few minutes but, unsurprisingly, Otabek was right; Yuri’s not really capable of disappointing.

Another shot of Yuri, this time from the side, the leg in back, bent at the knee, peeking out from behind the leg in front, fishnet thigh highs on both. Fresh pre-cum provided a welcome slick to Otabek’s motions as he feasted his eyes on the photo, catching all the details, like how Yuri was bent slightly forward, making his long hair tumble into the frame, and how he was pulling his already too-long shirt down in front of him, keeping himself securely covered there but leaving the underside of his perfectly perky ass exposed, which Otabek had no doubts about him doing on purpose. Then he followed the fine curves of those dressed up legs back down, finally noticing the pair of black high heels on Yuri’s feet — the same ones Otabek fucked him in (and fucked him out of) during their summer together. It sent his mind reeling back to having Yuri against the wall, hissing into Otabek’s ear for more, ignoring the aches and exhaustion that built with each thrust to give Yuri the properly hard fucking he wanted and so very much deserved. His entire body grew warmer at the memory and the picture in his hand.

_ You’re so beautiful Yura _

_ Your body’s amazing _

_ yours too,  _ Yuri texted,  _ so show me my fav part of it and u can have another picture _

Otabek didn't need Yuri to be more specific than that. He stopped and gave himself a moment to set the stage, adjusting his waistband, swiveling his chair towards better light, hiking up his shirt and leaning back to get a pleasing amount of his abdomen into the frame, clutching his hard-on by the base hold it at good angle. The sudden lack of stimulation, save for his steady grasp, wasn't all that welcome, but he knew that Yuri was putting effort into his shots, and he definitely deserved some in return. So, as incredibly eager as Otabek was to get back to masturbating, he took a few shots before managing to get a dick pic good enough for Yuri, then sent it off.

_ niiice _

_ you get a reward _

Yuri, thankfully, is also one to appreciate a good effort. Otabek’s reward, as Yuri so dubbed it, was another shot from his front, this time with his shirt pulled up to his neck, showing off his little pink nipples, his svelte waist, and his absolutely luscious cock.  _ That _ sight was particularly hard to draw his eyes away from, but when he did, Otabek noticed Yuri’s mouth, just barely within the uppermost part of the frame, in the most devilish smirk he’d ever seen on that pretty mouth. Including this was so very much on purpose — Yuri wanted Otabek to see how much fun he was having; Yuri wanted Otabek to see how much fun he was having with  _ him. _

_ Goddamn _

_ Wish I was there so bad _

_ what would u do to me, beka? _

What  _ wouldn’t  _ he do? He tried to focus, imagining the body in that photo, bedecked and begging for the right kind of attention, as if it were right in front of him. His thumb struggled to keep up with the thoughts that came racing to him.

_ I’d get on my knees _

_ Get those legs over my shoulders _

_ kiss your cock all over _

_ Suck you ntil you cum _

_ its been so long since I’ve tasted you Yura _

_ TOO long,  _ said Yuri.  _ what next? _

_ I want to get my fingers up your asss _

_ Just fill you up with the _

_ get you all loose and slippry for me _

_ have you tell me how you want me to fuck you _

_ then do it _

_ Andnot stop _

_ until you’ve had enough _

_ It'd feelso good _

_ Yura you feel soo good _

The hand around his phone was nearly as crazed as the one around his dick, pleasuring himself to his rapidly imagined desires and Yuri’s knowledge of them alike. There was such a thrill to it, a kind of high in this obscene exchange of images and words, not merely a makeshift way to try and bridge the 2000-mile gap between their bodies, but a sensation in itself, each little vibration of Otabek’s phone sending a wonderful shiver of anticipation through his entire body, wondering just what Yuri could say — or send — next.

_ good answer _ was his next message, accompanied by — yes, fuck yes — another photo, one that stood out as quite distinct from the others before it. If those photos had built Otabek up, it was this one that brought his down, utterly.

It was taken from a high angle, with Yuri facing away from the mirror, kneeling down on the floor with his legs folded beneath him, bare ass, the bottom of his shoes, and a hint of his patterned legs visible in the reflection behind. That’d be tantalizing enough by itself for Otabek, certainly, but it was not the draw of the photo, no — that was Yuri’s face. He had his face in the foreground, and not just a teasing sliver of it —  _ all _ of it, chin to crown. His palm was just against his chin, fingers leisurely curled to touch his blushing cheek, tip of his little finger at the corner of that same smirk, ever so slightly, and yet so damn naughtily, slipping between his lips. And those eyes, those unreal green eyes, the same eyes that have captivated Otabek for nearly a decade and captivate him still, just at times in an entirely different way — they were fixed straight ahead, focused on the camera lens, but Otabek’s body reacted as if those eyes were gazing right into his own.

_ Yura I'm so close _

He held back, keeping himself on the very edge, resisting the  _ extremely  _ compelling urge to bring himself to completion, as he waited for Yuri’s next text, waiting for self-imposed permission to be given. He damn near lost it at those little dots heralding its arrival, but held on, held on until they transformed into words:

_ do it. I want your cum inside me beka _

Then Otabek finally gave in, not that he had much choice by that point, not with those words and the image they inspired driving the hand around his cock. Head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, but with Yuri still behind his eyelids, he came on his belly, imagining instead what it would be like to bare inside Yuri, skin right against skin, no condom to separate the two, Yuri’s hot hole greedily wringing him out to the very last drop, moaning pure music into Otabek’s ears as each pulse of his climax filled Yuri fuller, cum leaking thickly out of his ass, dripping down his thighs, down to those fishnet stockings. Even as a mere fantasy it brought so much intensity to Otabek’s reality, leaving him panting, slightly sweaty, incredibly messy, with warm semen quickly cooling in the pronounced ridges and swells of his abdomen, and a pleasant shiver running through his entire body.

Otabek exhaled heavily, ran his tongue between his too-dry lips, and sent Yuri a picture of the results, before finding something to wipe them off with.

_ Thank you for that, Yura,  _ he added, regaining all of his ability to type now that he was calm, perhaps even a little sedate.  _ It was a very pleasant distraction. _

_ i aim to please *thumbs up emoji* _

_ but not like i didn’t get anything out of it _

Another photo, one of Yuri seated on his bed, legs hovering out straight over the edge, muscles taut in the stretch, and his waning erection resting on the crease between thigh and hip, the remnants of his orgasm in a pool starting to streak down his stomach. There was something almost artistic about the composition of the shot, oddly enough, making it both aesthetically and psychologically satisfying.

_ i was doing it between pics _

_ real stealthy _

_ like a masturbating ninja or something _

Otabek raised an eyebrow and snorted at the thought.

_ I see. _

_ okay that sounds really fucking dumb i guess,  _ said Yuri.

_ but hey i just came gimme a break _

_ im all happy and stupid right now _

Otabek was very familiar with dopey Yuri got after sex, this apparently being no exception. It was a bit of a boost to Otabek’s ego, knowing he had this effect on him even when he was a couple thousands miles too far away to even touch him. It left him with a warm, bittersweet feeling, one that’d become fairly common in their relationship.

_ Really looking forward to doing all that in person. _

_ Getting to touch you. _

_ Just being with you again. _

_ aww beka _

_ if we don’t get a gp assignment together i’m going to murder whoevers in charge  _

Otabek grinned, perhaps a little too widely given it was at his boyfriend’s homicidal intentions.

_ We’ll get to see each other eventually. _

_ No need to resort to murder, Yura. _

_ oh come on beka I know ur calm n cool and all but don’t pretend you wouldn’t be pissed if the ISU cockblocked you _

Well, when he put it that way.

_ By the way, Yura. _

_?,  _ said(?) Yuri.

Actually, Otabek wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to bring it up then, but that little preface into the conversation slipped out and was acknowledged before he had considered that. So he went on.

_ What do you think about not using a condom? _

The text felt a little too stiff, maybe, but Otabek has always thought it better to get to the point quickly and clearly, and this definitely seemed like a topic that called for that approach.

_ uhh _

_ probly feels really good _

Otabek had heard as much, and didn’t have any reason to believe it wasn’t true; he’s had his bare, wet fingers inside of Yuri plenty of times, and he could an educated guess on how it would feel if it were his dick instead.

_ What about for you, though? _

He could have said “for the receiver” instead, but even with them getting more open to Otabek bottoming, Yuri’s preference was pretty much a given in the relationship as it stood, so, again, he just got to the point: did  _ Yuri  _ want this?

_ uhhh _

_ dunno if it’d feel better _

_ maybe it would? _

_ but it seems like itd pretty hot having you cum inside me _

_ but im basing that off of porn so idk _

Otabek  _ did _ just get off to the idea of that, so he could in no way deny that for himself. He assumed the argument could hold weight in reverse too.

_ Is it safe, though? _ , he asked, bringing up the considerably less sexy aspect of this.

_ well were not sleeping with anyone else _

_ and we swallow all the time already so does it matter??? _

_ I have no idea,  _ Otabek answered, honestly.

_ idk let’s google it? _

_ I'm down for it tho _

_ i think it'd be pretty _

_ Intimate or something?? _

_ like a next step in our relationship? _

Otabek smiled. It's not like he forgets the fact, but it's still a trip to know he and Yuri ended up in this kind of relationship.

_ i think I see what you mean. We can definitely look into this more. _

_ yeah okay,  _ said Yuri.

_ lol is barebacking supposed to come before or after kinky crossdressing? _

_ That seems like something every couple needs to figure out for themselves,  _ wrote Otabek, partly with a genuine belief in the sentiment, partly because he had a feeling Yuri might get a laugh out of it.

_ haha _ (and Otabek was right)

_ shit, gotta get ready for ballet _

_ <3 you ttyl babe _

Otabek told him,  _ Love you too _ , closing the conversation for now, but before he could get back to work, he returned to the pictures Yuri sent. It was common sense to delete these as soon as possible as a safety measure, especially since one had Yuri’s unobscured face in it. He looked over them in the order they were received, savouring those incredible legs one last time before removing them, trying to impress them on his mind for safekeeping. Apparently he savoured those moribund photos a little  _ too _ much, given that by the time he had made it to the photo that needed to be gone the most, with those big eyes and that mischievous smirk, Otabek was already hard again, almost painfully so.

He sighed quietly, and told himself he wasn't in  _ that  _ big of a rush to work out that set list.

 

In the wake of much bated breath, the Grand Prix assignments were announced soon after. Otabek would be heading to Skate Canada, in Vancouver, while Yuri would be competing for the Trophée de France, in Paris. Then, for the NHK trophy, both of them would be skating in Osaka. They would finally get their chance to meet up, cheer each other on on the ice, then spend precious time together before their flights home. Thankfully, Yuri would have no need to go through with his murder plans.

Whatever free time they had before all but evaporated as the competitions drew closer, but that didn't stop Yuri from periodically sending more photos, each teasing at a single piece of the apparent whole in the making. The first picture would always be the tamest, just dangling enough in front of Otabek to get under his skin, then sinking his claws into him with the promise of more. And there would be more, each shot more suggestive, more revealing, more obscene, so long as Otabek did as he was told — and just doing so was a thrill entirely on its own, over time making him as inclined to the task as to its reward. It was always a good way to unwind after a long day at the rink, and a measure to dull the ache of being so far away from the man in those wonderfully filthy photos.

But tonight, there’s no ache to dull now that they’re together, in their hotel room, with the leopard print pumps, the very ones that set this night’s festivities into motion, packed safely in Otabek’s suitcase, the final piece the outfit Yuri’s conjured up, finally ready to be handed over to him.

And tonight, finally, Yuri’s going to put all those pieces together, just for Otabek to take utterly apart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, part two has gotten longer than planned, so I'm chopping THAT up into two parts. As of the time I'm posting this, I've already got about 2.7k words written for the next and definitely final part, so hopefully that doesn't take too much time to finish.
> 
> This happens every time I write something. I'm terrible. I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy.

Otabek looks at the digital clock on the end table again, and again wonders why — it’s not like it’s an appointment he’s counting down the minutes to. 

Whatever the time, he has already been waiting for tonight for months, so he tells himself that he can certainly wait a little longer. He keeps telling himself that, even as he might be going slightly, subtly mad as he’s waiting.

He’s sitting on the side of the bed in an Osaka Hilton hotel room, forearms rested on his legs, dressed in the same suit he wore to tonight’s banquet, where he chatted politely with his fellow competitors, enjoyed some food and a small amount of alcohol, and used every ounce of his willpower to not drag Yuri into some out-of-the-way supply closet and have his way with him. But Otabek must really be the paragon of patience that he supposedly gives off that air of being, because he managed to keep his dick in his pants even with Yuri attached to his hip during the entire banquet. Hell, he  _ still  _ has his dick in his pants.

But only for a little longer, he hopes.

Well, however long the wait is right now, it can’t compare to what they both had to endure for the past two nights. There’s probably nothing that would have compared to knowing they squandered months of grueling training, practicing the same program again and again until their feet bled, just to botch their shot at the GPF all because they wore themselves out in a hormone-fueled frenzy before the competition. They both knew that, and didn’t want to take  _ any _ risks. So, after spending what time they could together, taking in some of Osaka’s sights, they returned to the hotel, chastely kissed each other goodnight, and parted ways to return to their separate hotel rooms.

Otabek couldn’t fall asleep without getting himself off a few times first, though. It just wasn’t humanly possible, and he can’t be blamed for taking whatever measures necessary to get a good night’s sleep before a competition.

All that aside, the results of their commendable self-control are now together on the desk, laid carefully though rather unceremoniously between the lamp and the complimentary pen and paper pad bearing the hotel’s logo. They came out of the NHK trophy with two medals to show for it, Otabek’s gold and Yuri’s silver. Yuri was disappointed, of course, pissed off that he hadn’t placed first, but he didn’t hesitate for a second in congratulating Otabek sincerely, throwing his arms around him and kissing him over and over once they were finally out of the range of any camera.

“I hate losing,” Yuri told him earlier, “but… I hate it less when it’s to you.”

Even so, if Yuri feels like taking it out on him tonight, well, Otabek wouldn’t mind one bit.

The restless thud-thud-thud of his brogue’s firm sole suddenly registers in his brain, leaving him with no idea of how long he’s been tapping his foot. Once again, even though he’s not entirely certain on where the etiquette applies in Japan, he feels a twinge of guilt for leaving his shoes on indoors, but brushing that off is a necessity for tonight. They’re part of the outfit, the “nice suit” that Yuri requested Otabek wear in exchange for the outfit Yuri’s currently putting together. Gradually. Step by little step.

Otabek gets up onto his feet and stands in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, looking himself over. Because he had to wear this suit anyway, it takes him no extra effort to do so, so he figures he might as well put in whatever effort he can to match, however nominally, the effort that Yuri’s putting in. Or maybe he’s just giving his uncharacteristic but quite acute need to fidget a slightly productive outlet. In any case, he smooths his palms down the subtly textured wool of the charcoal grey jacket, checking his cuffs, his lapels, his shirt buttons, and his collar before fixing up his tie, regardless of whether it actually needs any fixing. As he grasps the knot to tighten it, his body, for a sliver of a second, reactively tightens up too, viscerally recalling a moment still vividly lingering.

It was only a couple hours ago, while they were still at the banquet, when Yuri was trying to convince Otabek that they’d spent enough time there and shook enough hands and made enough small talk and nobody would care or even notice if they left. As much as Otabek wanted to agree, he insisted that they should stay longer for appearances’ sake. That was when Yuri casually pointed out that Otabek’s tie had come loose, and stepped in front of Otabek to fix it himself, giving it a sudden tug — enough to give Otabek’s heart a quick but potent jolt.

“Whoops,” said Yuri, feigning innocence so heavily that he could leave absolutely no impression of innocence, then throwing in a mischievous glint in his eyes to make it doubly clear that it was intentional.

He then picked up his glass and took a long, conspicuous sip of the sparkling fruit juice inside, to remind Otabek that he wanted to stay completely sober for everything he’d be doing to him once they got back to the hotel.

They were out of there within ten minutes.

He briefly wonders if Yuri is taking longer than necessary, making Otabek wait as part of his power trip, getting back at him for making them stay at the banquet for that long. It’s plausible, but doubtful, because Otabek knows Yuri, and knows that the psychological pleasure of playing around with his boyfriend can only sustain him for so long before he needs to play with his physically. He knows that when they’re alone, Yuri is stunningly, shamelessly physical.

God, it’s gotten so much hotter in here. He did turn the heat down, didn’t he?

Running out of parts of his outfit to fiddle with to pass the time, he returns to his same spot on the bedside, next to the table where they’ve set up all the necessities for the night. Looking at them just makes him antsier to put them to use, but he checks them over all the same — a great assortment of individual foil packets of water-based lubricant, hopefully enough to last, a few condoms, if either of them changes their mind about barebacking, some water bottles and sports drinks, for all the strenuous activity there’ll be, a box of tissues and some washcloths, evoking the less exciting but nonetheless inevitable part of the night, and something else that Otabek hadn’t expected ahead of time. Alongside those basic supplies, with a satin ribbon folded neatly beneath it, there is a small, rather flat black box with a hinge, not unlike the kind he’s seen necklaces in before they’re given as gifts. And it  _ is _ a gift, but it is  _ not _ jewlery.

“I got something for you,” Yuri said earlier, before he went off to change, handing Otabek the box with that ribbon still tied around it in a flashy bow. “For  _ you _ you, I mean. Wait, don’t open it yet.” He sighed, cheeks reddening, before speaking again. “Uh, just… check it out while I’m getting ready. If you wanna use it, leave it on the table next to the bed. If you don’t, just shove it anywhere else — I won’t bring it up.”

Recalling Yuri’s words, Otabek reaches to take the box into his hands and opens it for the second time, looking over its contents, resting on a plush bed of dark green velvet, again suggesting that it should be something gold or jewelled. Instead, there is a small, metallic butt plug, which at first struck Otabek as comical, like it was put in such a box as a prank. But, now that he thinks more about it, the toy  _ does _ look at home in its pretty little package, with its sleek, stainless steel, so polished that he can see his reflection in it, and its oddly elegant shape — the bulbous end almost like a teardrop with a smooth point, with a curved, increasingly narrower neck leading to a protruding loop, presumably playing the double role of handle and all-important flange. It’s surprisingly heavy for how small it is, and it  _ is _ pretty small, and even at its widest point, it’s more intriguing than intimidating. Yuri picked this out especially for him to enjoy.

Now Otabek’s  _ certain _ he forgot to turn the heat down.

The box closes with a snap, and he places it back beside the bed, as instructed, right as the door knob clicks open behind him. He forgets all about checking the heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt at writing Otabek pretending that he's not horny as all hell, for your reading enjoyment.
> 
> For anyone who's curious, I based the thing that'll be going up Otabek's butt in the next chapter on these things that I find entirely too pretty: http://www.njoytoys.com/products/pureplugs.php
> 
> Leave kudos if you liked it! If you leave a comment, you're an absolute gem. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow that's a big ol' wall of porn.

“Didn’t keep you waiting too long, right, Beka?”

Otabek’s heart is trying its damnedest to jump straight out of his mouth right now, but he doesn’t let something like that stop him from saying, “You’re worth the wait.”

To that, Yuri puts on a “Damn right, I am” smirk.

And he absolutely is. He has his hair pulled back tight, two braids on opposite sides of his head feeding into high ponytail. A coat of vivid red lipstick calls attention to his face, and his pitch black eyeliner makes the green of his eyes stand out all the more. On his body, suspended by two thin, flimsy straps, and just barely reaching down to his thighs, is a satiny, purple negligee with a neckline that plunges deeply down the slight furrow of his chest. Black lace accents the bottom of the skirt, slightly grazing the opaque tops of his sheer, black stockings.

His fingers play idly with one of those flimsy little straps. His nails are painted the reddest red Otabek can conceive of.

“Lie back,” says Yuri, gesturing casually at the bed. As Otabek obeys, Yuri saunters along the side of the bed, hips gently swaying, head held high, the measured clicks against the wood floor signalling the shoes out of Otabek’s sight. 

“Like what you see, huh?” asks Yuri, no doubt noticing the emergent bulge in Otabek’s pants as he begins to crawl onto the mattress.

“Can you blame me?”

Yuri stalks closer, knees edging in between Otabek’s feet, making a space for himself between his legs before deftly dealing with buckle, button and zipper.

“Guess I can’t,” Yuri hums as he takes Otabek’s cock out and into his hand, “since I like what I see too.”

He settles in, down onto his stomach, and drags his tongue up Otabek’s shaft, making him tremble as the tip of his tongue meets frenulum.

“Gonna need you to be a lot harder for me, Beka.”

“Keep doing that a-and—” His voice falters at a quick lick around the crown of his cock.

“And?” Yuri drawls. He is already having  _ so  _ much fun with him.

Otabek licks his lips, trying to remedy the dryness that’s quickly settled there. “And I will be very hard, very fast.”

“I know. Why do you think I’m doing this?” he asks, expecting no answer, reiterating that this night is about what Yuri wants to do, and Otabek is just along for the ride.  _ Very _ willingly along for the ride, but still.

But nothing changes how wonderful Yuri’s mouth feels, even when he's using it to toy with Otabek, making the act so purposefully visual — long, slow licks and red-lipped kisses, sly glances that just get all the more sly as Otabek’s moans get louder and his body sinks heavier into the mattress.

“You look way too relaxed,” says Yuri, with an annoyed tinge to his voice, as his fist keeps pumping. “Like you need something to do.”

“Give me something to do, then.”

“Hm.” Yuri rests his chin on his palm, like he's so very deep in thought. Otabek notices the little smudge of lipstick at the corner of his mouth. “Why don't you get me ready to take this?” He emphasizes his final word by tipping Otabek’s cock forward with his index finger, then letting it spring back into place.

Words don't manage to find their way to Otabek’s mouth. He just nods. Repeatedly.

Yuri gladly accepts the wordless answer. He gets up onto his hands and knees and sidles up closer, one strap of his dress slipping down past his shoulder in the motion. Those glossy lips are suddenly so much nearer to him, and even knowing his role tonight, Otabek becomes stricken with an overpowering desire to have them on his mouth. As if by its own volition, his body rises up, ready to strike, but his chance slips away as Yuri flips over, quickly but still mindful of where the dagger-like heels on his shoes are, so that he’s still on all fours, but facing away, quite out of the way for their mouths to meet.

But Yuri’s mouth is already back around his cock, and Otabek has a front seat row view of Yuri’s ass, so it’s hard to stay  _ too _ disappointed about these things. 

Otabek lets his hands fall where they may, and they end up on Yuri’s calves, just below his knees, sliding up fabric that makes his skin tingle at the touch, thumbs tracing along a solid black seam that finds oddly entrancing. The seam leads him to the thicker band, cinching tighter around Yuri’s shapely thighs, then to bare skin, smooth and soft and beautiful and  _ just not visible enough _ , and Otabek can pace himself no longer — he rucks up the negligee up to Yuri’s hips, revealing all there is to be revealed beneath.

There is both more  _ and _ less than Otabek expected to find here. More, in that two taut suspenders connect the stockings to a lacy garter belt, beneath which lies leopard print he expected to find  _ somewhere  _ besides the shoes, in the pair of panties he has on. Less, in that these panties don’t even serve the most basic function of underwear, with a wide slit down the centre that leaves everything that could be exposed very much exposed.

His boyfriend is wearing crotchless leopard print panties. His boyfriend  _ bought _ crotchless leopard print panties. His boyfriend thought the best way of letting him know about his crotchless leopard print panties was to just  _ shove  _ his crotchless leopard print panties-wearing ass right up into Otabek’s face.

His boyfriend is goddamn amazing.

He grabs one of the packets of lube at random, tearing it open and squeezing its contents out clumsily onto his fingers, tossing the empty foil aside. It smells, as the picture-perfect strawberry on the packaging would have him believe, like strawberries — fragrant, but not overpowering. With his dry and unscented hand, he grabs Yuri’s very grabbable asscheek, holding it aside to uncover the little pink hole that he’ll be fucking as many times as Yuri deems necessary, looking as tight and pristine as it will for the rest of the night.

Knowing what Yuri can take, Otabek still starts off slow, massaging his fingertips into his rim, dancing along the bounty of nerves to be found there, wandering off as far as his pert sac, trying to ease him into this, matching the rather leisurely pace of Yuri’s still in progress and still mind numbing blowjob. In response, Yuri starts wriggling his behind, a signal, clarified over many instances of Otabek prepping him, for “Get the hell on with it already.” In this command and obey dynamic they have hanging over them, it’s telling that Yuri still chooses to do this over outright ordering him to crank up the intensity; it’s just  _ that _ good at getting results.

Otabek presses a finger in, not waiting long to add a second when he encounters less resistance than he expected. He supposes Yuri must have been keeping himself busy while they were apart — several naughty photos he’s been sent would suggest as much. But then he wonders if Yuri couldn’t resist fingering himself last night, ass up in the air, face in the pillow, hand reaching behind to just get a taste of what Otabek could be doing to him. The image in his mind combines with that right in front of his eyes, the sight of his fingers disappearing again and again, the wet squelch they make, the almost overdramatic way his hole tenses and his thighs twitch and his mouth stumbles when Otabek presses his crooked, sheathed fingers  _ down.  _ God, as much as he’s loving how obscenely exposed Yuri is in this position, he wishes he could see Yuri’s face as he pleasured him, as he served him and fulfilled his desires.

An urge comes to him, something he's heard of, seen plenty of times, thought of occasionally. Maybe it's out of an instinct to please, or some latent urge to debase himself, or his mouth is still itching for the contact it was denied, or he feels like Yuri should be well-compensated for all the work he’s done — outside  _ and _ inside — to make tonight possible, or maybe it's just some basic human curiosity. Whatever it is that drives him to do it, the urge is powerful enough to make him skip the thought processes he should be having, pull Yuri even closer by the hips, and lap at his slicked-up taint and rim with his tongue, at which point Otabek learns this lube isn’t only scented, but flavoured. Surprisingly, rather pleasantly flavoured, at that.

But that’s not what Otabek’s concentrating on, because at the same instant there’s fairly loud thump as Yuri’s heel jerks against the headboard, mere inches away from Otabek’s head.

“ _ What  _ was that?” Yuri blurts out, jolting up to look awkwardly over his shoulder. “Was that your — did you just lick my ass?”

Yes, yes he did. And, for some reason, the first thing that Otabek thinks to say is, “You put your ass right next to my face. I thought that might be what you wanted me to do.”

There is a silence that gets exponentially heavier as the seconds pass, giving Otabek time to consider if he just messed up.

“Well, uh,” Yuri begins, his voice small, eyes downward, stepping away from dominance and demands. “I guess I don't  _ not _ want you to do that.” He pauses. “Do you want to?”

After a moment of thought, distanced from frenzied desire, his answer becomes crystal clear.

“Yura, I just want to make you feel good. If  there's any chance you'd like this, I want to do it.”

“Only one way to find that out, huh?” Yuri huffs out a laugh, quick and sweet, slipping back into his role and the confidence it makes him flaunt so readily. “You have my permission to keep literally kissing my ass, Beka.”

Otabek exhales quietly in relief, drawing that sweet aroma in on his next inhale, drawing back his eager mouth.

Again, he starts things off slow, not quite knowing what to do or what Yuri would like, if anything. Besides it being quite a different part of the body, doing this reminds Otabek of the first time he tried to use his mouth on Yuri, trying out all the different ways he can use his lips and tongue, seeing which ones earn the best reactions, building on what gets Yuri making noise. In his vague, sporadic imaginings of this, he thought he'd be more hesitant about this, more squeamish, maybe, but as soon as he hears Yuri let out a long, low “ _ Yeeesss _ ” in response to the tip of his tongue swirling around just  _ barely  _ inside of him, any and all reservations Otabek had or would have had or should have had are instantly dead and gone. He puts his all into licking and kissing and sucking and shamelessly tongue-fucking Yuri’s hole, fingers damn near clawing into the yielding flesh of his thighs to keep him as close as possible and keep the legs on either side of his head trembling and those wonderful, musical sounds coming out of Yuri’s lips. Otabek doesn't even give a damn that his own cock has been left abandoned and aching. 

“Holy —  _ Jesus _ , Beka,” Yuri keens, fingernails scraping up the side of Otabek’s clothed leg. “Finger me too,  _ fuck _ .”

He is quick to comply, alternating between feasting on and thrusting into Yuri’s squeaky-clean, strawberry-coated asshole, getting him all loose and sloppy, nose flush between his cleft, mouth moaning against his sopping skin from the pleasure of giving pleasure, the lurking deviance of the act just making it all the better to perform.

“Oh, goddamn, that's enough,” Yuri chokes out, pulling his ass away from Otabek’s busy tongue, which instinctively tries to linger on what it's has taken away. “That's, fuck — I need to get fucked already.”

Yuri flips back around with impressively fluid grace, quickly snatching up a couple things of lubricant before backing up, holding himself above Otabek’s thighs. He has that same domineering, in-control aura about him that he had the last time they were face to face, only now his face is redder. Much redder. Competing-with-the-red-of-his-lips red.

_ “ _ Okay,” Yuri huffs, flipping his ponytail back over his shoulder, “don't let this go to your head, but… how are you so good at eating ass?”

Yeah, that's going straight to his head.

“Couldn't tell you, Yura. Yours is the only one I've eaten.”

“Yeah,  _ I know that,  _ that's why I—” He stops and shakes his head, leaving a packet in the sheets beside him and ripping open the one that remains in his hands. “Well, whatever. But since you did such a good job, I’ll make round one  _ real _ easy for you.”

Otabek feels his abdominal muscles flutter as Yuri lets the surprisingly cold liquid drip onto his warm skin, spreading it all over with his soft, slender hands, before wiping them off on the bed sheets. He might as well; they will be  _ much _ messier by the time they’re done.

“Tell me what to do,” he says, the words coming to him so, so easily.

“All you have to do,” Yuri begins, his voice perfectly, almost defiantly even, “is stay on your back, look sexy in your fancy suit, and keep your dick hard until I come.” He speaks just as evenly as he moves to straddle Otabek, taint grazing over his firm length. “You can do that for me, right?”

Must be a rhetorical question, because Yuri wastes no more time, reaching a hand behind him, fumbling a bit before getting a good enough grip on Otabek’s cock to line it up with his stretched-open hole. Otabek doesn't dare take his eyes away from Yuri’s face as he sinks down, inch by inch, slowly but never stopping, tries not to even blink to not miss a moment of Yuri’s reactions — teeth biting into his blood red lip, brow screwed up, that satisfied little sound when he bottoms out.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he groans low, gently rocking his hips, “s’even better than I remember.”

Otabek’s voice slips out at the motion, the way it creates a welcome kind of friction between bare flesh. It's better than he remembers too, and probably for a very simple reason — it's a sensation he's never felt until now. It's all that warmth and pressure he's come to expect from sex, just amplified, remixed. And all Yuri has done so far is grind against him.

Yuri starts to bob his body up and down, letting just a bit of Otabek slip out before thumping back down again. It steals the breath right out of Otabek; even these shallow thrusts feel incredible, their sensation tempting him to grab Yuri by the hips and buck up into him. He resists. It's not easy, but Yuri quite clearly spelled out the instructions he's to follow: stay down, and look pretty.

“Does it feel better, Beka?” asks Yuri, voice hitching as he takes in more at once. “Getting to screw me raw?”

“Yes,” Otabek says in an exhale forced out by Yuri’s hips.

“How much better?”

“So much.”

“Bet you can't wait to see what it's like blowing your load inside me.” Yuri’s lips curve into a self-satisfied smirk. “But I don't have to remind you, Beka, you have to—”

“To stay hard until you come.”

“That's right,” Yuri says smoothly, slipping out all but the head. “No matter how  _ good _ —” He slams down. Otabek gasps. “—it feels, you don't come until I do.”

Good thing he at least jacked off last night, or he definitely would have already broken this rule.

Yuri picks up the pace, moving onto deeper, harder thrusts that test Otabek’s limits and just feel so damn  _ good. _ And now Yuri’s palms are against his supine boyfriend’s chest, giving himself leverage to throw his hips down again and again until he finds the angle that'll get him off.

“Your dick feels like  _ dick _ ,” Yuri says suddenly. It bewilders Otabek at first but, aware of the euphoria in his tone, he takes it to mean that Otabek Isn't the only one getting something out of passing on the condom.

Yuri shudders out a pleased “ah” as he stumbles upon that perfect angle, capitalizing on it with a slow but commanding rhythm. His body in motion is mesmerizing, the strong, muscled thighs, the tensed, firm arms, the long golden hair, cast over his shoulder by a flick of his neck, and the way the negligee shimmers as it’s rustled about. And it doesn’t escape Otabek’s attention how the that filmy fabric is held up and stretched taut beneath Yuri’s waist, suspended shapelessly beneath. The fabric is thin enough that Otabek can just about see— 

“Hey.” The fingers splayed against his Otabek’s a moment ago move to snap in front of his face. “My eyes are up here.”

Startled, Otabek mutters out, “Oh, ah, sorry, I didn't know I wasn't allowed—” 

Yuri snickers, trailing his fingertips down along Otabek’s throat. “S’okay, I just wanted to say that. Don't have to get your panties in a knot, Beka,” says the man actually in panties, entirely intentionally, Otabek’s sure.

“Here,” Yuri says breathily, bunching up the hem of his dress in his fist, making Otabek’s already pounding heart thump powerfully in his ears. “Have a better look.”

And, with so slight of a movement, his gorgeous cock is uncovered, all red and ripe with a sheen of pre-cum spilt down to the underside, the whole of it bobbing to the beat set by Yuri’s loins. With fabrics all around, sheer and patterned, lacy and smooth, the way all these feminine adornments make such an alluring contrast with his masculine features — it all serves to make a heady sight absolutely intoxicating.

“Been so long,” says Yuri, tone teetering between agony and ecstacy. “Already close.” He grabs Otabek by the wrist, pulling his hand to his swollen cock, leaving no room for misinterpretation with the command, “Jerk me off.”

Otabek eagerly obliges, closing his fist around Yuri’s length, finally allowed to give it some of the attention he's been longing to give. As aroused as Yuri obviously is, there's no need to ease him into this, so Otabek opens right away with his most vigorous efforts, firm without being rough, months-old muscle memory recalling just the way Yuri longs to be touched, trying to drown out his own pleasure to dole pleasure out in turn. Otabek twists his wrist with each full, fast stroke, spurred on by Yuri’s praise, worded and wordless alike, and the inexplicably amazing impression of being someone,  _ something _ , used solely to bring about Yuri’s orgasm. Before long, any nuance in Yuri’s dominance is lost, superseded by something aggressive and primal and greedy. No more teasing or goading on, just pure, needy rutting.

Yuri climaxes with his lover’s name on his tongue, back arched and body shaking, shooting thick strands of cum onto Otabek’s hands, his cuffs, his shirt as Yuri’s nails scrape against it.

“Come in me — do it, Beka,  _ do it, _ ” Yuri orders, so frantically it sounds like it’s something he  _ needs _ , as vital as water or air, and fuck if that doesn't turn Otabek on like hell.

Otabek takes hold of Yuri’s hips, carelessly smearing cum on his clothes, and thrusts up into his tightly clenching hole, bounding towards the orgasm he's been on the brink of for far too long, fucking Yuri through the intense sensitivity of his own, until his body gives in completely to the heat of it all, keeping himself deep inside Yuri as his climax hits.

“I can feel you throb,” says Yuri, voice stained in his aftershocks, just audible to Otabek as his own body quakes entirely. Yuri collapses forward, chest against chest, Otabek’s face in his perfectly smooth hands, soft mouth on his own, stifling the sounds that come out from Otabek’s throat of their own accord, but not completely, far from completely, waves of moans flowing out of his throat as he spills himself inside Yuri. Everything is heat — Yuri’s body, Yuri’s hands, Yuri’s mouth, Yuri’s ass,  _ fuck, _ especially his ass — all leaving him in a euphoric haze, a Yuri Plisetsky-induced high.

Yuri slips his lips away, still staying close, noses brushed against one another, needily breathing in the same air.

“Good?” he asks in a near-whisper. A genuine question. A little departure from his dominance.

“Mmyeah,” Otabek manages to mumble out, taking over the dopey, not-entirely-conscious role that’s usually reserved for Yuri post-orgasm. His vague awareness of this makes him more aware of just  _ how _ good it was for him. “You too?”

“Fuck yeah,” says Yuri, using a quick kiss as tangible punctuation. There follows a comfortable quiet, broken when Yuri smacks his lips together. “Why's your mouth taste like strawberries?”

“Strawberry lube.”

“Why’s there lube in your mouth—” Yuri goes silent in realization. A decidedly less comfortable quiet follows, until he erupts into laughter, huffs of air that he’s trying to hold back nonetheless buffeting Otabek’s face. “Well, uh, fuck,” he says with a snort that Otabek will not acknowledge, “now we’ve both eaten my ass.”

Yuri lifts himself up, giving Otabek a better look at him — the hand he’s quickly clasped over his mouth, the soft crinkles in the corners of eyes half-shut in amusement, the few golden strands at his hairline that have managed to free themselves from the stranglehold of his ponytail.

He is beautiful when he is pleased, so beautiful when he is happy, and there is a urge burning like a white-hot coal in Otabek’s chest to bring all of that beauty out of him.

“Yuri,” he says steadily, even in the daze that hasn't dissipated. “What can I do for you now?”

Yuri’s eyes widen before going back to being narrow and sly, a look made more intense by his darkened lashes. “Jeez, calm down, Beka, I haven't even got your dick outta me yet.”

And, with no obvious intent to get said dick out of him, he grabs and twists the cap off of one of their water bottles, putting his red lips to the rim and taking a few drawn-out sips. Otabek doesn’t look away for a second because, fuck, even him just  _ drinking water _ is hypnotizing.

“Want any?” Yuri asks.

Of Yuri, absolutely. Of the water, Otabek’s indifferent. He shakes his head to show as much.

“Guess it  _ was _ me doing all the work, huh?” Yuri teases with mock annoyance.

“Then put me to work,” Otabek says back, no teasing or mock anything. Sincerely. Intently.

“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” Yuri flashes his teeth for a moment before taking one last sip. When he sets the bottle back on the table, his hand and gaze both linger, and Otabek is pretty certain he can see a genuine glint in Yuri’s eyes, which is what makes Otabek tear his eyes away from Yuri to see what has Yuri so captivated. It’s the fancy box Otabek quite consciously left on the nightstand, and his heart is starting to race again to see it already in Yuri’s hand.

“I was saving this for later, you know, for once you’ve earned it.” Yuri gives the box a little shake, enough to make its contents rattle audibly inside. “But I’m real goddamn generous and all, and since you gave me such a nice dick to ride, you can open your present early.”

The words coming out of Yuri’s mouth might have fried a circuit in Otabek’s brain, because the only thing that can come out of  _ his _ mouth in response is, “Thank you.”

Yuri raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, that’s kinda hot,” Yuri finally says, seeming bewildered by his own words. “You should thank me more often.”

Some unorthodox usage, perhaps, but good manners count really do count for something after all.

Yuri dismounts, slipping the softened but still tender cock from out of him, making Otabek quietly shudder.

“Get on your side,” he orders. When Otabek complies, Yuri wastes no time in introducing his palm to Otabek’s exposed ass cheek, just because, which is enough of a reason for Otabek. It stings like it’ll leave a mark. It stings  _ wonderfully. _

“Pull up your knees.”

Otabek does, as well as he is able to in his mostly-still-on suit pants, twisting his neck to watch Yuri take the shiny plug out of its case and drown it in lubricant. Everything he does with those pale, slender fingers looks more intriguing with their tips so vibrantly painted, flashes of colour drawing and keeping the eye to their movements, their grace, their delicacy. And delicate they may seem, but Otabek knows what power they have, what they’re capable of doing to him, getting a hint of that power when Yuri uses them to smear the excess lube around his rim. Spreading him open, fingers squeezing into still-stinging flesh, Yuri holds the tip of the toy at his entrance. Otabek quivers at the slight metallic chill of it.

“You good, Beka?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good.”

Yuri starts off by pressing it against Otabek’s hole, not with enough pressure to nudge anything more than the very tip of it into him, just enough to make its presence good and known. He rubs small, slow circles with it, letting it glide outside the slicked up ring of muscle, very much taking his time coaxing Otabek’s body for what’s next. Sometimes he presses a little harder and Otabek thinks, here we go, bracing himself for what almost certainly will feel awkward, maybe even uncomfortable for a moment. But Yuri keeps drawing back, keeps hinting at penetration without providing it. For Otabek, it's a combination of easing him into it and teasing him out of his mind, the nights of that sporadic but always recurrent urge to have his boyfriend play with his ass again made real but  _ just _ out of reach. It already feels good. It already feels so good, but he wants to feel more, wants to feel  _ all _ of it.

He wants Yuri to give him all of it.

“Please, Yura.”

Yuri’s long lashes flit up. “What was that?”

“Please,” repeats Otabek, with a need more strongly pronounced. 

“Please  _ what _ ?” Yuri says sharply, nails digging into his ass cheek, hard enough to certainly leave marks. “What do you  _ want? _ ”

“I want it inside me. Please, put it inside me, Yura.”

Every muscle in his body feels like it’s holding its breath in anticipation after he speaks. Otabek’s not entirely sure what’s doing a better job of exposing himself, having his asshole on display or having his desires voiced. But that exposure, that vulnerability, is a kind of rush that only  _ this _ can give him. And, judging by that delicious smirk pointed right at him, there’s a rush that Yuri can only find here too.

“See, that’s all you had to say,” Yuri says through the smirk, gently nudging the plug in, making Otabek’s breath hitch.

He tries to bring his breath back into his control as he feels himself accept it, opening around the increasing size of the bulb, choking out a moan as his rim gets stretched by its widest part. Without thinking, he covers his mouth with the back of his hand to muffle himself — a mistake he doesn’t much mind the consequences of.

“Hey,” Yuri snaps, freeing one hand to spank Otabek with,  _ hard _ . “Nuh-uh, get that hand out of the way.”

Otabek obeys because of course he does, but he does wonder what Yuri would do if he stayed obstinate, wonders how he would force him into obedience, wonders how much he would make it  _ hurt _ . It’s a fancy that makes him put serious thought, if only a second of it, before letting his hand fall slack onto the sheets.

“That’s better.” Yuri’s voice is soft, soothing even. “I wanna hear how much you like the present I got you.”

And Yuri gets exactly what he wants a second later, picking up where he left off, pushing the plug in as far as it will go, far enough to make it rub over Otabek’s prostate, one bulge pressing into another. The size is perfect, small enough for him to take it without much effort, big enough to cause a satisfying stretch, with the weight of it making its presence that much more pronounced, as if in contempt of its comparably meager dimensions. Otabek’s already thinking quite highly of it, when Yuri starts to roll his wrist so slightly and slowly, and now he’s certain it’s one of the best gifts he’s ever received. Without any effort on his part, he makes his gratitude known, both with the wordless obscenities coming out of his mouth, and the quickly growing damp spot the sheets, right beneath the tip of his fully hard cock.

“That didn’t take long,” says Yuri, hand against his chest, fingers splayed between the severe v of the garment to overemphasize how touched he is. “You really  _ do _ like it.”

“Of course I do,” says Otabek, voice scratchier than he was expecting it to be. “It’s from you.”

“Ugh, you sap,” Yuri groans, then points off to the side. “Just… stand up, there.”

Otabek doesn’t pry for a reason more than it’s what Yuri wants. He just gets up, albeit a bit awkwardly, with his pants half-on and something shoved up him — something that he can feel with each awkward movement he makes in moving from the bed to the bedside. As he gets his feet on the floor, he turns to see Yuri at the edge of the bed, sitting in the same place where Otabek spent what felt like ages waiting for the boy there now — the boy now sifting through what could still reasonably be called a heap of lubricant.

“Ready for round two?” asks Yuri, tearing the end off of a packet with two halves of a coconut on it. The scent is rather calming. Everything else is everything but.

“Very.”

“Thought so.” Yuri squeezes the packet empty over Otabek’s cock, leaving Otabek to even it out himself, then leans back on his forearms, bending a knee to bring one foot up to the edge of the mattress.

“Same rules. I come first,” says Yuri, making each word crisp and clear. “Got it?”

“Yes, Yuri.”

“Good boy.”

As that praise roots itself firm in Otabek’s brain, in a blink-and-miss-it moment, Yuri’s prima ballerina legs have gone vertical, showing off the near-entirety of his stockings’ seams, until the counters of his shoes obscure what’s left. Yet, as alluring as those thick seams are, for reasons that Otabek still cannot begin to comprehend, they are rather frail competition to where Yuri’s bright red nails call his attention. He has his hands on his ass, fingertips keeping his pink, stretched-out hole stretched open, with a trickle of thick, milky cum spilt from it.

It is one of the most exquisitely debauched sights Otabek’s ever seen, and he’s the only one who can  see it. The only one who can  _ do _ it.

“Now just fucking  _ wreck me _ alread—ah! ”

Yuri’s command is both interrupted and realized when Otabek hooks his hands around the back of Yuri’s knees and pushes into his hot, sloppy ass, drawing such a lovely moan out in the process. That moan compels Otabek to keep moving, to keep giving what Yuri wants to receive… or it should, at least. But he pauses in place, thrown off by how thrusting into Yuri made his own hole clench. Nothing out of the ordinary in itself, it’s just the first time he’s had something to clench  _ around _ .

It feels  _ good _ .

“C’mon,” Yuri grunts, smacking his foot against Otabek’s shoulder. “Don’t just  _ stop _ .”

But, as good as it feels, nothing must get in the way of him making Yuri feel good. With that imperative aim in mind, Otabek starts rolling his hips, giving himself the most transitory of breaks to regain his composure when his muscles twitch in just the right way, even when it’s over and over again and just seems to get more and more “right.” The result of his perseverance, the reward, is immediate and tangible, delivered in how Yuri slumps back on the bed, twists his fingers into the sheets, looks at Otabek through heavy-lidded eyes, grits his teeth, smiles, moans for more.

And more is what Otabek delivers, leaning his body forward and Yuri’s legs with it, keeping his cock enveloped as he practically and easily folds his bendy boyfriend over himself, head over high heels —  getting the necessary logistics out of the way so he can Otabek can simply piston fast and hard, for the wrecking Yuri so genuinely has his heart set on. 

And it should be the right kind of overwhelming, how Yuri’s hole squeezes so tight around his bare dick as he pulls out, then sucks it back in as he thrusts, every ounce of Yuri so forcefully refusing to be unfilled. But what should be a fire is an inferno, all because of a few ounces of smooth metal, now angled to weigh so heavily such a sensitive spot, so often and so unjustly neglected when he doesn’t have Yuri around to remind him it both exists and very much welcomes the attention — so much, in fact, that every time he snaps his hips, making skin slap and the bed shake and squeak, he feels like he’s playing Russian roulette with one empty chamber in the gun. And he just keeps spinning. Just keeps pushing his luck. Just keeps that muzzle trained on his temple because what Yuri wants is what Yuri gets.

“Beka, harder, fuck me harder.”

And Otabek does, as hard as he can without breaking. Yuri lets him know it’s still not enough by reaching his hand out from their tangle of limbs to strike Otabek’s backside.

And there goes the gun.

The edge Otabek’s been teetering on this whole time is no comparison to the free fall that abruptly follows, the dizziness of the climax making it seem as though every nerve is his body is roaring. It’s one sensation playing off of another, Yuri so tight around him, himself so tight around the plug, making his legs shake so much that it shouldn’t be possible to ever stand again, much less right now. He pants furiously, lungs burning for air, throat burning for water, as his cock weakly forces out the last drops of his cum inside Yuri.

_ Yuri _ .

The ground feels more solid, and everything comes back into focus, when he returns his gaze to Yuri’s still-contorted form beneath him, then to his face.

Yuri does not look impressed.

Otabek’s yanked down by his tie, brought face to face with Yuri. The knot tightens. It chokes him a bit. His brain can only register it as pleasure.

“Did you just come?” says Yuri, fist around the tie like a leash. “Before  _ me? _ ”

It comes off as a threat, no doubt as intended. There’s a tightness in the pit of Otabek’s stomach, not quite from guilt, not quite from fear, not from something he can piece together, not yet — not until Yuri loosens his grip on the tie, runs the length of it through his fingers and thumb, keeps his eyes on it like it’s being used to hypnotize him. 

Yuri sounds almost  _ giddy _ when he finally looks up and says, “This… this is the part where I get to punish you, huh?”

And that’s when Otabek knows that breaking the rules isn’t causing his guilt or fear, no, but  _ excitement. _ He’s been a good boy, following directions, earning Yuri’s praise, getting tokens of appreciation for his unfaltering submission. But now he’s faltered. He gets to see what Yuri does when Otabek’s been  _ bad. _

This night just keeps getting better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey, yeeeeah, I've been away for awhile, haven't I? I'm sorry! :( There's been a lot of garbage going on in my brain, and I just wasn't enjoying struggling to writing this... or enjoying much of anything. Well, the good news is I've been getting help for all that garbage and I can experience more feelings than "tired" and "no" again, so here's the longest sex scene I've ever written, which I did end up genuinely having a lot of fun writing.
> 
> And yeah, it got so long I'm breaking off another chapter again. Oof.
> 
> Thanks for reading and/or sticking with me! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% totes serious spoiler alert: Otabek’s punishment was having to sit and wait for my lazy, uninspired ass to let him have more Yurio goodness. (〃´∀｀)
> 
> I DID IT, GUYS

From behind him, Yuri asks, “Is this too tight?”

“No… I don’t think so.”

“Try moving.”

Otabek wriggles his arms about and jerks his shoulders from side to side, as much as the confines of his necktie fastened around his wrists will allow. It’s tight, yes, but it probably wouldn’t take too much effort to break free from — not that he has any intent of doing that.

“It’s good.”

“Good,” says Yuri. “Turn around.”

He turns to face Yuri, upright on the mattress, feet on the floor, ankles crossed, cock standing tall and red, beckoning for attention that he knows he will be biden to give. And, with his hands useless at his back, he knows he’s really left with one way provide such attention.

So it may not be surprising, but no less exciting, when he’s told to get down on his knees.

He sinks to the floor, one bent leg at a time, as smoothly as he can manage with his legs still shaky and the plug stuck and secure inside him. For just a moment he’s down on one knee in front of Yuri, in a notedly different situation than the one he’s pictured from time to time, before he has both of his shins settled on the floor. Yuri adjusts his position, inching forward to keep himself as little of himself on the bed, and as close to Otabek, as is possible.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you what to do next, right?” Yuri teases, dropping the dainty pantomime to spread his legs apart — wide. The sight alone of those defined inner thighs paired with the stockings’ tight bands could be enough to keep Otabek going for many solitary nights to come, that’s how amazing it looks.

“Open your mouth, Beka,” he tells him, taking the base of his shaft into his hand.

And, with that, Otabek _should_ be opening his mouth to have it stuffed full of cock, and he knows very well that he should — so even he’s a little taken aback by hearing himself speak.

“This is my punishment?” says Otabek. It’s a genuine question — innocent, really — but it overflows with unintended defiance. And, given the glare he’s getting from Yuri, that defiance is all that’s coming across to him.

“What was that?” Yuri asks, giving him the opportunity to change what he said. Otabek, perhaps stupidly and perhaps purposefully so, does not take it.

“I understand the tie, but blowing you? I _like_ blowing you.”

“I know. And you’re very good at it,” Yuri continues, unfazed. “You can be punished after. This is just you fixing your fuck-up.”

He gestures at his erection, left unsated by Otabek’s last efforts, shiny streaks of fresh pre-cum dripping down past the head. However angry Yuri _actually_ is at Otabek, whether or not Yuri’s playing up his role here, and to whatever degree he is or isn’t, there’s no doubt about this — playing that role is turning him on like crazy. There is something substantial and physical to his arousal, something that makes the air heavier, fills it with heat and a fiery sweetness. It’s an aura. An enchantment.

It is extraordinary.

“Now shut up and open your goddamn mouth already, Beka.”

Otabek doesn’t even think to point out that he’s been told to perform two contradictory actions. He just obeys, gives Yuri what he wants, gratefully accepts what he is given. Yuri is not gentle in the giving.

It’s a crazy thing to even think about, how many years Otabek spent fixated on Yuri Plisetsky, fascinated by the way he moved, so delicately and yet so powerfully, amazed by the intensity of everything about him, captured and epitomized in that implacable stare. It’s crazy to think about how Otabek dared to approach him for the mere chance of speaking to him, spending time with him, and maybe, just maybe, making a friend of someone he so deeply admired. It’s crazy how even though he never held any notion that that admiration would be allowed to become something more, Yuri let it do just that.

And now, after all that craziness, he’s down on his knees, lovingly gagging on Yuri Plisetsky’s beautiful cock.

Life is strange and wonderful in that way.

“Ah, fuck, Beka,” Yuri slurs, knotting his fingers into Otabek’s hair. “Your mouth’s so _good._ ”

The pace is soon commandeered by those hands, repeatedly thrusting Otabek’s head back down, taking away any means for him to lead this as he may, making it abundantly clear what is going on here. No, this is not the kind of blowjob where Otabek can take his time, where he can etch Yuri’s shape into his mind with lips and tongue, pleasure him and play with him at the same time, have him at his mercy. This is _none_ of that — _this_ is Yuri using Otabek’s mouth to get off, fast and sloppy and loud.

This isn’t Otabek sucking Yuri’s dick. This is Yuri fucking Otabek’s face.

“If you could see yourself right now,” Yuri says with a shivery grunt, grinning as he jerks his hips. “You _love_ this.”

And Otabek can’t deny it, not one bit. His drool is getting splattered all around his mouth, dribbling down his chin, remaining there with no way to wipe it away. His eyes are damp, tears forced out by the thrusts that come so close to breaching his throat, spurring the wet, choked sounds that fill the room. And still he tries to take in more, to envelop the whole of Yuri’s length, past even where Yuri is forcing it himself, all to make Yuri groan and gasp and shake, more and more.

He is such a mess. He is so in love.

Yuri gives him a warning only seconds before coming, but it is ample time for Otabek, so very much on the edge of anticipation, never more prepared to drink him dry. The hairs all over his skin are forced stiff by the sheer excitement of the moment, as he enthusiastically gulps down bursts of hot seed, his head held firmly in place by Yuri’s trembling hands. But even despite his most earnest and obscene enthusiasm, his mouth quickly gets glutted with Yuri’s orgasm. It spills over his lip. Yuri pulls away with a satisfied sigh. Otabek chokes up another rope of semen onto his chin.

“Uh, everything okay there?” Yuri asks, an unease moving in to overtake that comfy daze he’s slipped into, his grip loosening to brush down Otabek’s temple.

“Y-Yeah,” Otabek rasps, in the midst of catching his breath. The back of his mouth is scratchy. His jaw is sore. But he’s okay. There’s something pleasant about all that, even.

Yuri seems to take his word, choked as it is, at face value. “You, uh.” He taps his own chin with a growing grin. “Got a little there.”

They both know there’s not really anything Otabek can do about it, hence the grin so broad it’s putting quite deep crinkles into the corner of Yuri’s eyes.

“Here, guess I can get that for you,” says Yuri, leaning down to swipe two fingers across Otabek’s chin.

When his fingers start to move away, reflexively, naturally, Otabek’s mouth drops open, startling Yuri into stillness. It’s satisfying, Otabek seeing how he can surprise him, seeing how his submission can be so simple, so reflexive.

Their eyes remain fixed on each other as Yuri slides his sopping fingers into Otabek’s open, beckoning mouth. No order is given; none is needed. He seals his lips around Yuri’s probing digits, running his tongue between them, around them, all over. He sucks them clean, savouring the tactile contrast of soft pad and hard nail as they slip away, lets his taste buds soak in Yuri’s flavour, tart and salty and _him_ , before taking it down his throat.

He licks his lips. Smiles. “Thank you, Yura.”

“Whoa,” a wide-eyed Yuri says quietly, almost weakly, before his face squinches up. “I mean, uh…”

He clears his throat, slips back into his demeanour, but can’t will away the flush that has creeped in from his cheeks to his ears. It doesn’t change the dynamic; a flustered Yuri is still a Yuri to be obeyed.

“Don’t think you’re quite off the hook yet, Beka,” he says, cupping Otabek’s face in his hands, filling his ears back up with silky, dark tones. “But… hmm, what’s it called when you reward a dog for something good?”

“Positive reinforcement.”

“Yeah,” Yuri clucks his tongue. “Let’s reinforce what you just did.”

Yuri bends over low at the waist to crash his lips against Otabek’s, somehow still able to force his tongue into a mouth without a sliver of resistance to offer. Otabek responsively perches up on his knees, like a puppet on a pulled string, pushing himself up deeper into the kiss, getting greedy, getting as much of what he can of what Yuri’s dangling in front of him before it’s ripped away. And when it is, the hand at his neck keeps him at bay, leaving him to sit back on his calves. Then, all so quickly, nothing remains of the kiss, save for a sheen of Yuri’s saliva on Otabek’s lips.

Oh, and the erection it gave him.

“Oh, hey again,” chirps Yuri, taking notice as he sits back. “You left so _suddenly_ , didn’t know if you’d be back.”

Yuri is guilt-tripping Otabek’s dick. Not Otabek. _His dick_. And, well, his dick isn’t exactly being shy about how much it likes that.

Yuri rests his foot on the top of Otabek’s bare thigh, right near his crotch. No, rest isn’t the right word here — it’s clear that Yuri isn’t putting enough pressure to rest against him, but instead just enough for the heel to press into his flesh. Just enough for him to _feel_ it.

“What do you think, Beka?” Yuri hums, tilting his head inquisitively to the side as he gently rocks his foot back and forth. “You been punished enough yet?”

Otabek can see how Yuri’s eyeing his stiff cock, the way his eyes mean to stay directed at Otabek’s face but keep shifting down. It’s distracting, the way that he can distract him.

“I asked you a question,” says Yuri, his playful tone growing harsh — a tone made stronger by him putting the flat sole of his shoe flush against Otabek’s shaft. “Have you been punished enough?”

Yuri just barely nudges his foot forward, the motion ever so small and controlled, the angle it shifts Otabek’s cock to so slight from where it stood by itself, but the impact — the impact it makes is far from slight. It keeps him in his place. _This_ is his place.

“I can't answer that,” says Otabek.

“Oh?” Yuri quirks up an eyebrow, keeps his foot steady. “Why not?”

“Because it's not for me to decide, is it?”

It's bait, plain and simple, thrown out in abundance for Yuri to catch onto. But it's a game they’re playing, after all; Yuri doesn't mind being played with — so long as he gets to come out on top for it.

“Hey, you're right,” he says cheerfully, like he's about to give Otabek a shiny gold star sticker for his answer. “And whose is it?”

Otabek does not hesitate to say, “Yours.”

“Mine,” Yuri echoes back, smile and voice reclaiming their devious edge. “All mine.”

With a thoughtful spark in his eyes, he keeps his focus down on Otabek, scanning him from head to knees and back again. Otabek can almost see the light bulb pop above Yuri’s pretty golden head.

“Stand up,” he orders, withdrawing his foot back to the floor.

Otabek does, carefully but as briskly as he is able to. Once he’s back up, Yuri wastes no time in starting whatever task he has on his mind, the first step of which apparently requires Otabek’s shirt off. Yuri’s fingers are quick to slip the shirts’ buttons free of their holes, with one notch of force down from just ripping them right out — something Otabek really wouldn’t give a single damn about right now. When the last button is undone, he immediately pulls the two halves away from each other, leaving only his back and his arms covered. In the instant that Otabek realizes he was wrong, that he just needed the shirt open instead of off, he misses from where Yuri gets the tube of lipstick that he’s now twisting the cap off it. It’s red, very red — no doubt the same shade resting on his lips.

“You can stay still for me, right?”

Otabek nods.

He cannot see well, but he watches Yuri lay his first mark, one slow, vertical line, starting just outside his nipple, ending at his abdomen at just the height where his arms are bent and bound. He continues, more long, straight lines at shifting angles, leaving a slight waxy feel where the pigment sticks to skin. In spite of the odd thrill of this bristling at him, Otabek stays static, controlling even his breath to better serve as a canvas to Yuri, whose energy is wholly focused on this, undaunted by anything else well in his sight and reach. He feels Yuri draw a curve down before looping back to its start — an “O,” no doubt — then more lines, more angles, a quick flick above those.

“There,” Yuri declares, putting the lipstick aside. Following his gestures, Otabek takes a couple steps backwards and does an about-face, giving Yuri space to stand behind him. Then Yuri wraps his arms around his waist, holding him so close that his immobilized arms feel clothed in smooth satin, and point him towards the mirror, head over his shoulder to get the same look.

The stretched-out shapes warp somewhat as they pass over the the curve of his pectorals, and as a whole there's a noticeable slant, and of course, being in a mirror, it is mirrored, but Yuri’s message remains perfectly legible.

Мой.

_Moy._

Mine.

“What do you think?” Yuri asks, tilting his head against Otabek’s, admiring his reflected work.

“Accurate,” he says simply, mind swimming in the image of himself as he is now. Half-dressed. Disheveled. Branded.

Yuri huffs a small laugh through his teeth and right into Otabek’s ear. “That all?”

His strikingly red fingertips wander and graze beneath the strikingly red word, to his navel, his hair, the furrow of his hip, near to the inside of his thigh, so close but not close enough to aching cock, just letting that ache grow that much harder to bear.

“Do you like it?” says Yuri, kissing the shell of his ear. “Being all mine?”

There can be no other answer. “Yes.”

A kiss on his earlobe.

“Being my toy?”

“Yes,” he repeats, more intently.

He hears Yuri click his tongue, catches his eyes wander for a second in his reflection, before looking forward again.

“My bitch?”

Otabek can feel the body pressed against his grow tense, can sense the anxiety in the air. He knows Yuri is wondering if he's overstepped his bounds outside of the game, even though he seemingly has none to overstep within it. He's waiting for a response, maybe an uncomfortable expression, maybe their safeword, maybe a rigid “Never call me that again.”

And, well, he's not getting any of that.

“I fucking love being your bitch,” Otabek rasps, saying the word not with a mere tolerance or as a bone to throw in playing along, but with undistilled, uninhibited _delight._

It leaves Yuri dumbfounded for a moment, but not silent; the teeth sinking into his blood red lip say more than any words that teeth and lips could help to express.

“Say it again, Beka,” he tells him, honey-voiced, nails pressing into his abdomen. “Tell me what you are.”

“Your _bitch._ ” It tastes so good to say.

“My very own bitch,” Yuri sighs, those nails scraping against skin as they move down, down, down. He kisses his smile onto Otabek’s neck. Pushes his half-hard dick against Otabek’s ass. “I’m just the luckiest, aren’t I?”

“I’m luckier.” And Otabek damn well knows it. “Trust me.”

“Okay,” Yuri clicks his tongue. “I’m gonna ignore that you’re saying I’m _wrong_ , because you obviously need this explained to you.” His hands stop their dawdling, plunging immediately to take hold of Otabek’s cock and balls, one hand for each. “You see, ‘cause you’re mine — _all mine —_ this _very_ nice cock”—he squeezes—”is all mine too”—another squeeze, just beneath the threshold of _too_ tight, forcing out of Otabek a groan blended with such a needy whimper—”and I get to do _whatever_ I want with it.”

He tugs on Otabek, once, slowly from base to tip, until his cockhead is doubly sheathed in foreskin and Yuri’s fist, then all the way back. It shifts, but Yuri keeps a hand on him as he circles around to Otabek’s front, deliberately clicking his heels on the floor, getting as much of an effect out of those few steps as he possibly can. And that effect cannot be understated, nor can the speed with which Otabek’s most primal being knows to associate that noise with Yuri’s approach, his wanting, his taking.

“So, yeah, I win,” Yuri declares with the same satisfaction in his voice as on his face. “No more objections, right?”

“None, Yura.”

“That’s what I thought.” His hand abandons Otabek’s now-dripping hard-on, to slide back up to his chest, to his Мой. “And you’re gonna keep up that attitude while you’re on your back taking it like a bitch, right?”

“Yes, Yura.”

He leans down to give Otabek a quick peck on his lips, and comes back with a look so soft and sweet, it can only be called angelic.

“What’d I do to deserve you?” asks Yuri.

Otabek wonders the same thing as he’s being pushed onto the bed and promptly straddled.

He expects no mercy of Yuri. Yuri has none to grant. He seems to have a limitless store of energy, back-to-back second winds, as he bounces and grinds on top of Otabek, the only rest coming as he changes _how_ he’s riding him, then he’s back to it with a different depth, a different angle, a different but always remarkable view for Otabek. But Yuri has nothing to be sour about once he’s exhausted every way he can be on top that his imagination and flexibility allow for. It’s then that he unbinds Otabek, ends his passivity and stillness with the dizzying kaleidoscope of ways their bodies can be joined. He has Otabek bend him over, pry him open, pin him down, fuck him in ways that give the illusion that Otabek’s in charge but that is _never_ more than an illusion.

Everything becomes secondary to touch, to the textures of lacy fabric and soft, sticky skin, the feeling of Yuri’s nails and teeth nicking his skin, bites and bruises to embellish his lipstick-inscribed claim. Everything feels like sparks and fire running on his skin, through his spine, everything is too much but Yuri just demands more and then it’s not enough for Otabek — nothing is overwhelming until Yuri is overwhelmed.

Please, Yura, thank you, Yura, yes Yura, yes. His tongue takes to just a handful of words, just the few that he needs, to dole out without hesitation, nearly without thought. His thought becomes subordinate, yes, but it’s not an unconsciousness, even though the restless blur of one thing to another makes it seem so. There’s something in this complete surrender of power that’s so intensely liberating — a lack of control paired with a surfeit of trust, something that might just be comforting if it wasn't being used to get his blood rushing like this.

“Fuck, fuck, Beka, ah, _fuck_ ,” Yuri grunts out to the half-steady beat of his thrusts. He's back on top of him, his loose hair in his face and his uncovered body shiny with sweat, the thrown off hair tie and negligée being Otabek's chosen rewards for holding on so long and being _so_ very good to Yuri.

And Yuri’s goddamn _exhausted_ by now, Otabek can hear it in his breath, feel it in the heaviness of the body atop his. But Yuri still doesn't stop. He has his hands on the headboard as a vantage, something to just keep him going, just to get _more_ of Otabek.

Yuri pushes his hair away from his face. God, Otabek will never get over how stunning he is with his face bordered by waves of gold.

“So beautiful, so fucking beautiful,” Otabek nearly slurs, he's so lost in Yuri.

Through the motion and the panting and the hair that’s already getting back in Yuri’s face, Otabek sees a smile that could burn right through him. And god, is he ripe for burning, with Yuri’s hips so fiercely unrelenting even as they struggle to keep their commanding rhythm, one that holds Otabek close enough to the flame to feel its sweltering heat, but not close enough to ignite. He’s been in this limbo of painful pleasure and pleasurable pain for — who knows how long? However long Yuri has kept him there, however long Yuri wants to keep him there. But he wants to feel that blaze, wants it to consume him, utterly. And, now, he’s not above begging for it.

But that’s probably — no, _definitely_ — what Yuri wants anyway. Even fucked out of the majority of his coherent thoughts, Otabek can figure this out.

“Yura, _please_ ,” he says breathily, “please, I need to come, _please._ ”

“I bet you do,” says Yuri, suddenly tightening up around his already pressure-sore cock to taunt him further.

Yuri leans back, holding himself upright, pushing his hair back from his brow before settling his palms back on Otabek’s thighs. His hips slow to a leisurely pace, a gentle grinding. It gives Yuri a break. It gives Otabek more reason to beg.

“It's too good. It's too much. Please, Yuri…”

Yuri makes a small noise of satisfaction. “But you're so cute when you're desperate.” He jerks abruptly, with a moan that's overshadowed by the one that reverberates out Otabek’s throat. “You _sure_ you can't take any more?”

Otabek catches his breath, searches his overloaded brain for the answer the man in charge of when and how and _if_ he gets to orgasm would want to hear. But he just takes the first semi-coherent words that string themselves together to say:

“Can I come with you?”

A complete pause, all motion and voice stilled. Then Yuri takes a deep breath, blowing it out the side of his mouth in obviously faux-frustration before his lips slip back into a smile.

“Fine,” he says, moving to take Otabek’s wrists in his hands, moving them to settle beneath his lace-adorned waist. “I guess you've been behaving yourself.”

It makes Otabek grin so much that the grin actually becomes a _laugh_ , it’s such a euphoric rush in itself just knowing release is so close at hand, knowing that he’s _earned_ it. It makes everything all the more electric when Yuri’s back in motion, urging Otabek into motion with him; feet planted, hands steady, he gets himself rocking up into Yuri as Yuri rocks himself down on Otabek, working out that rhythm that they’ve worked out so many times before, follows the cues in Yuri’s words as much as in his body to have his own followed in kind, even if it’s subtle, unspoken. It builds to a chain of quick and shallow and _hard_ thrusts, the kind that make it impossible for Otabek to ignore Yuri’s gift still so _wonderfully_ stuffed up against his prostate, just making the climb that more intense as its peak hovers in sight.

“Close?” Yuri asks, more as a formality than a genuine question. He absolutely knows when Otabek’s close, and he’s so close he only thinks to grunt out an affirmative in response. Yuri huffs out, with so little composure, “Didn't hear that, Beka.”

“Yes!” Otabek cries out, in all his strength and all his weakness. “Yuri, _yes!”_

_“_ Then fucking come in me, you _bitch_ ,” he gasps, his words going shaky as Otabek slams his cock up and does precisely as commanded, not stilling his hips as he finally gets to come, keeping his hips pounding up for that friction and fullness Yuri needs to—

Yuri becomes a shaking, moaning, oh-so-beautiful mess as he spills his load on Otabek’s chest, bespattering the red letters he put there with more of himself, reinforcing the claim, turning it from word to something as primal, as animal as the wordless sounds rushing free from both their throats.

The furor and frenzy passes into a not-quite stillness, a not-quite silence. Otabek feels slack and boneless from the pure, wonderful relief running through him, like he could sink into the mattress and never emerge from it again. As their breathing grows calmer, Yuri threads his fingers together with Otabek’s, pulling them from where they left marks on his waist, together up to his face, pressing a gentle kiss to where Otabek’s palms meet. Yuri’s lips have gone dry, terribly dry, but it’s as amazing a kiss as any of his.

“Good, you did really good,” Yuri says quietly. He’s docile. Sated. “You need anything?”

Otabek wants to say _only the way you look right now,_ _only your happiness, only you,_ but there’s something in the moment that renders him mute, leaves his thoughts drifting. Summoning an energy he feels completely drained of, he takes Yuri’s hands away from his lips, bringing them to his own. He echoes Yuri, kissing the dip between his palms, but he keeps going, down to his wrist, up the outside right to the top of his little finger, along every tip of every finger, crossing over from one hand to the next, mirroring his kisses back to where he started. He doesn’t quite know what drives him to do this, and so thoroughly. He feels a bit silly, even, but he doesn’t stop. And Yuri doesn’t stop him.

Still kept inside of his lover’s body, Otabek just keeps kissing his lover’s hands, until his lover’s seed grows cool on his skin.

 

They move through cleanup with an almost clinical efficiency, checking things off on a mental list. Bodily fluids, wiped up. Tissues and packaging, discarded of. Sex toy, removed, washed, and put back in its case. What remains of their outfits, traded in for decidedly more casual counterparts. Makeup, Yuri’s and Yuri’s on Otabek, mopped all away.

There's an entirely different energy now, with both of them propped up by piles of pillows on the bed (top sheets bunched up and tossed onto the floor), gorging themselves (within reason) on an generous variety of Kit Kat bars and bottles of Pocari Sweat procured in a breakneck convenience store raid before the sex to refuel after the sex, and half-watching a Japanese game show on the hotel TV, of which Yuri’s cursory grasp on the language provides exactly no illumination to what is going on and _why._

“Man, this actually feels kinda weird,” mumbles Yuri, mouth full of chocolate, as he runs his hand down his bare leg, from where his shorts end and all the way down his calf.

Otabek looks over, gladly taking any excuse Yuri himself will give for looking at his legs. “What does?”

“Finally taking the stockings off. It’s like I peeled off a layer of skin or something.” Otabek must be making some kind of face, because when Yuri looks at him, he’s quick to say, “Ugh, sorry, that’s gross.”

“Nah.”

“Maybe I should’ve gone with the fishnet after all,” Yuri goes on, snapping a second piece off from the matcha-flavour bar. “Hey, sorry, by the way, I know you picked the fishnet like… months ago. I just thought this looked better.”

Otabek shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I liked what you put together.”

“What part’d you like best?” There’s a crisp crunch when Yuri bites into the wafery layers, as he allows Otabek to come up with an answer more specific than “everything.”

“The crotchless panties were a nice touch.” He can throw that one in the pile of “things people who aren’t Yuri Plisetsky would never imagine Otabek Altin saying aloud”

“Mmm!” Yuri jolts up, chewing quickly to get to say, “Yeah, actually, I was really stuck for awhile, because I knew I wanted the garter belt and the stockings _and_ some panties, but then you like… can’t really get the panties off, you know?”

Otabek hasn’t thought of it before, but he can grasp the logistical issue here, so he nods.

“So I’m Googling and going through all these lingerie sites and then, _boom_ ,”—Yuri snaps his fingers—”crotchless panties. Problem solved.”

“Ah, fashionable and functional.”

“Fuckable too.” He points at the convenience store bag, oblivious to the laugh that Otabek’s choking on. “Yo, pass that… whatever flavour that is. The pink one.”

“Yes, Yura.” Otabek grabs the Kit Kat in the pink wrapper, apparently raspberry cheesecake, and holds it out to him. “As you command.”

Yuri snorts, trying to keep his laughter under wraps, as he swipes the candy away for himself, making the packaging crinkle. “Hey, knock it off — you don’t have to say stuff like that anymore.”

“I don’t mind,” Otabek says with a small shrug. “You seemed to enjoy it.” Much like Otabek certainly did.

“Well, _yes_ , I did really, _really_ enjoy it, but that’s not really the point.” Yuri tears the through the wrapper, revealing the predictably soft-pink confection within. With Otabek’s eyes drawn to the colour, he catches sight of the inner foil reflecting the lamp light off its creases. Yuri’s fidgeting.

“What’s up?” Otabek asks, not forcefully, just directly.

Yuri looks at him through the corner of his eye, rolls his lips inward, then says, “About tonight, I, uh… I didn’t go too far , did I?”

Otabek’s response is an instant, uninflected, “No. You didn’t.”

“I wasn’t, like… _too_ dominant or anything?”

“No,” Otabek repeats himself, “did you think you were?”

“Uh, kinda?” he says, his tone raising in his uncertainty, another question in need of an answer. “I mean, I sorta stepped on your dick, didn’t I?”

“I wouldn’t call that stepping.” Otabek can recall the sensation of it, how powerless he felt, how degraded. “I was okay with it, in any case, if you’re hung up about that.”

With his elbow poking into his thigh, Yuri leans forward, one hand against his cheek, the other still holding the opened but otherwise unblemished candy bar, he asks, “Were you okay with me calling you my bitch?”

It doesn’t have the same transgressive spark when Yuri doesn’t own it, when doesn’t command it with all the power Otabek quite willingly hands over, but that doesn’t change his answer: “Yes, I was.”

“Because I don’t really think you’re my bitch, you know.”

“I know.”

But Otabek’s answers don’t seem to change how Yuri responds to them. “Like maybe I'm still hung up on all this girl stuff,” he starts babbling, like the words has been pounding at a gate just now broken down, “and maybe part of me thinks that I'm calling _you_ the bitch that I'm _not_ the bitch, and that's just really shitty if _that's_ why I'm doing it, isn't it—“

“Yura. Yura? _Yura_ ,” Otabek interrupts, changing his tone until he gets Yuri’s attention back. “We were roleplaying. It was part of that. That's all it was to me,” he reassures. “If you aren't comfortable calling me that again, that's fine. But I have no problem with it.”

Yuri gives him an uncertain, although appreciably calmer, look. “Really?”

“Really,” Otabek echoes back with a soft smile, a rarity. Not that there aren’t other people he smiles at — this one is just the kind he only has for Yuri. The tension in Yuri’s features immediately starts to dissipate upon seeing it.

“Besides,” Otabek goes on, “I liked it. It was hot.”

“O-Oh.” Yuri’s small voice does not match how the size of his eyes right now. “Cool.”

He doesn’t want to laugh at Yuri and admit how cute he is, even when he’s being this cute, since Yuri treats the word “cute” like a hex that strips away his power. But Otabek knows from Yuri himself that cute isn’t mutually exclusive to being strong or masculine or anything like that. He keeps the word to himself, but throws his arm over his cute, strong, masculine boyfriend, and gives him kiss on his soft, blushing cheek. He can feel Yuri smile as he lets his lips linger for a few more, precious seconds.

“Very cool,” says Otabek when he lets his mouth free to do so. He gets a lazy jab to the ribs in turn.

“Okay,” Yuri huffs, finally and cleanly breaking a piece from the whole. “So, okay, you were okay with everything. Okay. Well, uh… was there something you were _okay_ with but it wasn’t doing it for you?”

For how well Yuri can slip into his dominant role, acting like and outright claiming that only his satisfaction matters, but even without this very evident and current concern showing otherwise, Yuri takes what Otabek gets out of this seriously. More seriously than Otabek thinks he need him to be. He has since the start. So, Otabek starts putting his mind to work for anything that could serve as an earnest, genuine answer. If Yuri’s confidence relies on feedback, feedback is what he’s going to get.

“This doesn’t exactly answer your question,” Otabek admits, “but, maybe…” He pauses. He can feel his face getting redder, not exactly in embarrassment, no. His heart just pounds a little faster remembering the sensation, and all the possibilities it planted in his head to resurface now.

“Maybe, next time, you could tie me up more?”

Yuri stops himself from biting into the piece, just as it’s brought up to his lips. “More? Like, _to_ something, or your legs too or…?”

“I’m not sure,” Otabek admits, trying to discern in the moment exactly what the appeal of it is. When he can’t find that, or at least put it into words, he says, honestly, “I just want more.”

An intrigued look crosses Yuri’s face, effectively intriguing Otabek at the sight of it. Freeing his hand by holding the Kit Kat between his front teeth, _still_ not letting himself try it, he swoops up his phone, blazes through his lockscreen (pictured: Otabek hugging Yuri’s cat, taken that summer) and types into Google images: _japanese rope bondage._

Once the page is loaded, Yuri holds it up in front of him, indulging his eyes in a collage of bodies, male and female, all woven into place with an intricate, overlapping web of ropes. Prompted, Otabek takes hold on the phone, moving through the gallery with his thumb. He’s not sure if he’s looking at art or porn. Could be both.

Yuri mutters something that sounds more or less like “Whaddya think?” before he finally bites down, pulling the uneaten half away with his fingers.

It’s a fair bit more complicated than wrapping a tie around his wrists, certainly, but Otabek knows Yuri takes things like complexity and effort like a challenge. So Otabek will treat it like a challenge, because he wants to see Yuri try.

“The GPF is less than two weeks away,” Otabek says, holding back the threefold excitement of getting to the finals and getting to compete against Yuri _and_ getting to be with him again. “You think you can learn how to do this by then?”

“Uh, _yeah_ , I can,” says Yuri, conviction setting into every facet of his face. It’s a bold look, unmarred even by his cheek moving around as he chews. “See, first you’re gonna be the GPF silver medalist — gold’s for me — then you’re gonna be a goddamn bondage masterpiece and — oh, wow, this one’s really good.” Yuri swallows and holds the piece’s remainder in front of Otabek’s face. “Try it.”

Otabek looks up from the artsy Google images porn to a pale-pink, wafery cross-section.

“Can I have my own piece?” he asks.

Incredulous, Yuri squints. “What, you worried about my germs now? You _do_ remember where your mouth has been tonight, right?”

He does. He also remembers, with a little jump to his abdomen, how much Yuri enjoyed all the places Otabek’s mouth has been tonight. But he needs to stop himself. They’re both drained. Best to focus on fatty sweets instead.

“I know,” Otabek says simply. “But I get half of the bars, don’t I?”

Yuri stares at him for what feels like a good, long time, before sighing in a mixture of exasperation and defeat. “You’re weird about the weirdest things,” he grumbles, though with some amusement, as he grabs and tosses the bar in its wrapper to Otabek, tossing the offered piece into his own mouth.

“It’s just what we agreed upon,” Otabek reminds him, snapping off his rightful piece.

“Man, I know so much weird crap about you.” Yuri shakes his head, grinning. “You’re into bondage, _apparently_ , you like when I crossdress, you get crabby if you don’t get your fair share of the candy.” He pauses, pursing his lips. “I like doing it, you know.”

“... Making me crabby?”

“What?” Yuri nearly spits. “No, dumbass — crossdressing! I like the crossdressing!”

“What do you like about it?” Otabek asks, purely curious, and careful to sound curious, as he genuinely is, instead of any negative way Yuri could take it. That Yuri’s expression turns pensive, his body staying slack instead of tensing up, tells Otabek he’s taking the question as intended.

In the background, it sounds like complete pandemonium has broken out on the game show they still have idling on the television, but Otabek remains focused and waiting. Looking at the screen probably wouldn’t help him understand what’s going on anyway.

“I dunno, exactly,” Yuri mumbles, staring at his bright red nails, the last remnant of his outfit. “I guess… I like dressing up sexy for you? And you can’t do the same thing with guys’ lingerie. It’s all so basic and boring or… or it’s just for a dumb joke.”

Yuri exhales, blowing a strand of hair away from his face. It quickly comes back. “And… even when I dress like a girl, with the frilly panties and all that shit, even when I totally set the joke up for the punchline…” He looks at Otabek briefly out of the corner of his eye, then back down, but taking a small, soft smile back with him. “You never make it feel like a joke. It's real cool of you.”

“Yura…” It shouldn't be cool of him. Yuri’s anything but a joke. Fun to tease, sure, but no part of Otabek can conceive of ridiculing the man he has his arm around, tighter now.

But Yuri just laughs, shaking his head. “Dunno if that makes any sense.”

It makes sense to Otabek, getting that close to someone, trusting them enough to let yourself be vulnerable. To not want to escape that vulnerability, but instead welcome it, lay down in it, find its warmth.

“I think I get it,” says Otabek, a drop of bittersweetness in his voice. He hadn’t realized before that there was more to this than the fun and excitement.

“And it’s just really fun!” Yuri blurts out. “So, whatever, right?”

… Though fun and excitement certainly play a part for Yuri, too.

“Right,” Otabek agrees, marking the dissipated gravity of the exchange with a casual bite of the Kit Kat piece that’s been between his fingers long enough to have partially melted onto them. “Oh.” He makes the noise with his mouth still full, beside really the only person he would speak with his mouth full. “That _is_ really good. Wow.”

“I knew you’d like it!” And he sounds proud of the fact. Fair enough; very few people know Otabek well enough to pin him as a raspberry cheesecake-flavour kind of guy.  “But don’t fill up on them — we still have to hit Dotonbori tonight! Oh yeah, crap, I put the nail polish remover in the bathroom.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Ugh, I haven’t decided yet,” Yuri groans, stepping out of bed, with that familiar little limp to his walk that Otabek is always watches with a mix of guilt and great satisfaction (and thus a little more guilt). “Osaka has _so much_ _food_. We gotta try the takoyaki and the okonomiyaki and kushikatsu, and I guess I gotta find a gift for Katsudon for helping me with my Japanese, and I _need_ a selfie of us in front of that giant crab when everything’s all lit up and—“

He freezes mid-step, suddenly-still legs making a triangle with the floor, hands raised at waist-level, like he’s about to shield himself from something oncoming.

“Is something wrong?” asks Otabek, already leaning forward, reading to spring off the mattress and to whatever aid Yuri is is need of.

“No, it’s just, uh…” Yuri huffs, rests his hands on his hips, and looks back at Otabek, cringing. His legs remain in the exact same position.

“Feels like an entire bucket of jizz just fell out of my ass,” Yuri bluntly declares.

“Oh,” Otabek deadpans, not sure of what to add. Should he say sorry? Because there's really no ambiguity about who's responsible for this. “Oh,” he says again, instead.

“Ugh, that felt so gross.” He drags the foot behind him up to its leading twin, looking more uncomfortable for having done so. Motion and gravity must not be his friends right now. “Almost makes me want to go back to condoms.”

“We can do that,” Otabek insists. “I really don’t mind using—“

“ALMOST,” Yuri snaps. “I said _almost._ You loved it. _I_ loved it. We're not going back — this is how we fuck now, this goddamn gross mess and all, okay!?”

There’s so much energy and passion in his voice, in that way that only Yuri can summon it, so freely and immediately. That passion has long been and still very much is one of the most beautiful things in the world to Otabek. So what if Yuri’s throwing that passion behind something like _how they’re never not going to bareback again?_

“I love you,” Otabek tells him, the words pulled out of him as if by their own volition.

Yuri doesn't miss a beat to throw back, “Dumbest time you've ever picked to say it, but I love you too, bitch.”

With that, he hobbles off to the bathroom, quick to shut the door behind him. Crisis averted, Otabek lets himself recline back. The inexplicable insanity of the game show in front of him draws his eye for a moment, but his gaze and thoughts soon and easily drift elsewhere. They end up on Yuri’s lingerie, all the pieces of his feminine outfit, left in a pile on the floor, discarded without a care — save for the leopard print high heels. Those, the catalyst for the entire get-up, the gift Otabek that bought for him months ago and brought to him for tonight, are placed upright, neatly side by side.

It makes Otabek happy in a way he can’t quite comprehend.

He yawns, leans back a bit more. He tries to let his muscles relax, to rest away the heaviness in them. He knows it won’t be long now until he’s out on the Dotonbori streets, following Yuri as his whims lead him to whatever food he wants to try or whatever sights he wants to see or in whatever scenery he wants capture himself together with Otabek. Otabek doesn’t at all mind if Yuri takes the lead when they’re out and about either. He would follow Yuri anywhere short of the plane back to Saint Petersburg — and even that’s difficult to resist.

Finding his hand against his chest, Otabek recalls the word written in lipstick there, with a longing. On top of his t-shirt, he traces out the lines with his index finger, trying to remember exactly where Yuri put the letters, wishing in the back of his mind that they could have been inked into his skin at that very moment. _Mine,_ to always have who he belonged to stamped on his skin.

But he just laughs beneath his breath — not because it’s a silly idea, even if it is, but because of how unnecessary it is. It doesn’t need to be written. Doesn’t even need to be said.

He knows that he is, in every way he could be, his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. Done. There are things I really like and things I'm really unhappy with, but I would've been unhappier if I had never finished it. In any case, thank you for taking the time to read it, and I hope you enjoyed it. And if you did, it would mean the world to me if you left a comment saying so. <3
> 
> My current plans are to finish the sickfic I started, and finish my participation Knock Yuuri Up Week (otayuri will be making a guest appearance in tomorrow's chapter!). As for after that, I've already started planning and writing something I've wanted to for awhile. It's gonna be long. It's gonna have some semblance of a plot. It's gonna have Otabek getting knocked up. If you're not into that, I hope I will write something else you'd like to read in the future. If you ARE into that, I hope I don't keep you waiting like an asshole (I will.)
> 
> See ya. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! I've finally posted some of the "power bottom dominant crossdressing Yuri from Otabek’s perspective" fic I promised in This Man is Mine! ... Not that there's much of that so far. The first chapter's the foreplay, I guess? ,:)
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who left kudos and comments on This Man is Mine. I wouldn't have been able to even consider writing more of the story without all your fuzzy warm feelings. But whether you've read the prequel or not, I would absolutely love your honest feedback on this story. A few kind words keep me going for days. <3
> 
> Happy Canada Day, everybody! / Bonne fête du Canada à tout le monde!


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